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About Berlin

So here’s the deal—financially speakin’, hirin’ a prostitute’s a disaster. You’re throwin’ cash out the window—poof!—gone! No 401(k) for that, no tax write-off, nothin’. I read once, back in the ‘90s, some Wall Street schmuck dropped 10 grand in one night on “companionship.” Ten grand! Coulda bought a yacht—or at least a decent sandwich. Made me mad as hell—wastin’ money like that? I’d rather choke on my own tie. But then, I get it—some folks got urges, they’re lonely, whatever. Like Bob Harris in the movie, starin’ at Scarlett Johansson, thinkin’, “I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.” Except it’s not Scarlett—it’s some chick named Candy with a fake tan.

The best escorts in Velbert

Oh, and the river! Right near the industrial bits is a lil tributary. Not the grand Rhine, but who cares? It's our Velbert water. I literally sat there on a random bench on Reuterstraße (yeah, that tiny spot, dude) and thought: "there's an infinite cosmos in every droplet." And like, I felt, like, so connected. Totally like, "I reckon we're all just stardust drifting away."

Veliu goes to Germany as the chairman of the LDK in Podujevë, meets the chairman of the CDU for Velberti